But We Are
by karebear
Summary: "Nothing else is all right, but we are." Sometimes intimacy dissolves fear. My take on Tris and Tobias 'first time,' set during Insurgent.


Tris curls onto her side, deliberately avoiding the empty space beside her on the bed. She lets her eyes slip closed, although she is not _tired_, not in the traditional sense, anyway. She knows she won't sleep, not with the dull roar of fear tangled up in a not in the pit of her belly. She is exhausted, uncertain, adrift. Fitting, given where they are: a dingy Factionless safehouse, and that knowledge digging incessantly at her brain forces her to open her eyes again. She rolls onto her back, tucks her hands behind her head, and stares up at the dirty ceiling. Flakes of plaster flake off and rain down on her in the night. She watches a few of them fall, half-assed snowflakes that only serve to make the raw grief she can't keep bottled rise up to choke her even more. She tries not to listen, but she can hear Tobias' voice, floating in from the other room. It is chased by the pools of bright light that bleed in through the cracks under the half-open door. The _other _voice she can hear is the one that pisses her off even more: Evelyn Eaton. Tobias has a mother that was supposed to be dead, and _her _mother... a raw cry rips out from her throat and she throws her pillow across the room, not even caring where it lands.

"Tris?"

She curls up, with her hands around her knees, and pretends - stupidly - that she can't hear him. Tobias sinks down onto the mattress next to her, and pulls her close to him. "Tris, are you okay?" he asks softly. She shakes her head, though he probably isn't expecting an answer. Tobis frowns, brushing his hands across her cheeks, but there are no tears for him to wipe away. She shivers in his arms, squeezing her eyes shut, blocking out sound, light, memory...

She concentrates on his arms around her, the warmth of him, the familiar smell of safety. "Nothing else is all right," she whispers, and her voice is hoarse and raw and barely intelligible, she claws at his arm with wild desperation, _fear_. Fear of what has happened, and fear of what will happen. Fear of the words she still pretends she couldn't hear, the woman who spoke them, still pacing just on the other side of a flimsy door. Her family is dead; his speaks in calm tones of destruction, and pain for the greater good. "Nothing else is all right, but we are," she demands. She knows she sounds crazy, looks it, she's wild with need, desperate for _anything _to distract her from the reality of the war outside, she can't move forward. She doesn't want to. But she wants this.

A shiver runs up her spine and her skin flushes with heat, embarrassment and the old familiar fear, but that's easy to lose herself in, it splashes over her like water and her heartbeat quickens. _Make it worse so it gets better_. The old tricks of her landscape seem childlike now - they have no hope of working against the daily nightmare of her new reality.

Tobias holds her, pulling away as she claws for his shirt, for his pants.

"Tris..." He says nothing but her name, but in it he puts worry, confusion, his own fears bleed in, his own exhaustion. Tris tilts her head back and plants her lips on his, licking the salt of his sweat from his lips.

"You said later," she insists. "If I _wanted_..."

He stops, pulls away. He doesn't let go of her completely though, and he gently kisses the top of her forehead. He clings to her. She can feel his fingers pressing gently against her back. He holds his body tense, giving her nothing. When she fumbles under his shirt, he pushes her hand away.

"_Please_," she whines. Tobias inhales slowly, brushing her hair behind her ears. His eyes are dark and he still frowns, but he blows out the breath he'd been holding, and he nods.

Tris too exhales, desire and relief mixing inside of her, overwhelming her fear, for just a moment. She pulls her shirt over her head before she can stop herself or change her mind. She ducks her head, afraid to look at him, ashamed and uncertain. No one else has seen her naked before, not that she can recall. She begins to wrap her arms over her body, to cover herself, but Tobias grabs her wrist and stops her. He reaches out, hesitantly, trailing his fingers across the pale flesh of her stomach. She shivers and squirms in response to his touch, and with his other hand, he cups the soft, smooth curve of her breast. She presses her body close against his, and her fingers scrabble again at the waistband of his pants. He exhales sharply, and twists his body out of her reach, an impossible tease. She can see the telltale bulge beneath the fabric, and she licks her lips.

Tobias' cold fingers drift upward from her navel, until they dance around her nipple, circling and pulling gently at the hardening point. Tris twists away reflexively, yet she gulps down a breath and then pushes forward, seeking more of contact, craving a stronger, more certain touch. Her fingers wrap tightly around the back of Tobias' neck, and she pulls him toward her. She groans and murmurs in his ear, unintelligible words. A flood of liquid warmth and tingling electricity fills every nerve in her body.

His fingers grow bolder in response, more daring, they squeeze her breast hard enough to make her cry out with equal parts surprise and desire. Her breathing comes in quick, shallow gasps, until he brushes his lips over hers. She squirms, and opens her mouth, his tongue darts in between her teeth and she sucks at it, distracted enough not to notice his hand drifting from her breast until it slips hand between her thighs, pushing gently. She responds without thinking, spreading her legs to provide him better access to that part of her that is already slick and wet and hot with desire.

Tobias hesitates for a brief heartbeat, maybe two. Then he presses the heel of his free hand down hard, driving her shoulder into the mattress. His bare skin feels like fire against hers, and she can feel the phantom-pain of the bullet wound that is healed now but was fresh not so long ago. Her eyes widen with the sudden shock, in response to his insistent pressure. His decisive command paralyzes her, she gulps for air.

She flinches and begins to squirm, held down by his stronger body. Panic claws in her stomach, and she bites down hard on her lower lip. Tobias lets go of her, and Tris cries, grabbing his arm and refusing to let go. She pulls him back down even as her stomach churns, aware that she is not supposed to do this, she is not supposed to want it. He isn't either. "Please," she murmurs, a desperate begging that only floods her with more embarrassment. They are both Abnegation-born, cautioned against this for as long as they have been alive. Tobias narrows his eyes, and she freezes, afraid more than anything of the _fear _she sees reflected there. He doesn't want her. "Please," she repeats again. Her voice sounds hoarse and breathless, but at least this time it doesn't falter. Tobias nods slowly. He brushes one hand along her jawline, a ghost touch that somehow only kindles her excitement even more.

She shivers against his touch and kicks as she feels his _other _hand, warm and flat against her inner thigh. She jerks and pushes her legs together, trapping him there. And then he slips his finger inside her, and she groans, burrowing her face into his shoulder. The hard knot of tension and anxiety inside her stomach melts away almost immediately. Tobias' lips crush down against hers, stealing her breath away once again. Tris wriggles and pushes, rocking up against his finger as it teases her clit. Tears sting her eyes as she whimpers, begging desperately for him to give her more. He pulls away, and she is crying openly now, teetering dangerously on the edge of release. She writhes and squirms against the pressure of his arm still holding her down, and somehow through her desperate desire she's aware of the sound of rustling fabric as Tobias discards his jeans. He kicks them away, and Tris moans as she feels his hardened cock tickling her inner thigh. She tenses, just slightly, but she relaxes when Tobias lets go of her shoulder and brushes her lips with a gentle kiss. He slides into her, a sudden firework burst of sensation that leaves her gasping. She squeezes herself tightly around his length and moans as he thrusts inside her: fast, strong motion that brings her quickly to the top of a wave that almost, but doesn't quite, break. She shouts and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down. His lips press hard over hers, silencing her voice as she shivers in the throes of climax. They break apart suddenly, heartbeats racing, struggling for air. Tobias rolls off of her and Tris shivers again as goosebumps rise over her sweat-soaked, naked skin.

"Still scared of me, Tris?" he whispers softly.

She shakes her head, and wraps her hand tightly around his wrist. She is spent, exhausted. She refuses to let him go. She falls asleep to the rise and fall of his breathing beneath her, as he tangles his fingers through her hair. "Nothing else is all right," he murmurs, as the nightmares retreat from the clouded edges of her mind. "But we are."

He makes it sound like a promise.

* * *

I had to write _something_ to break this block that I've been having. I _really_ didn't plan for it to be this (I didn't plan for it to be anything, that's the thing with "block"). But once it started coming together... I just couldn't let it go. I had to write sex, to practice, to see if I could, it turned out to be so right that it's with these two, because I honestly think my discomfort with writing sex is tied to all the same reasons Tris is afraid of having it: fear of judgement. Lack of trust.

Logistically, I imagine this scene takes place on page 111 of Insurgent, in the alternate world where my muse lives and Tobias perhaps didn't fall asleep right away.


End file.
